


Who Needs Rhaegar (the Elia x Lyanna Drabbles)

by crossingwinter



Series: Irresponsible Storytelling [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:09:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: Tumblr ficlets about Elia and Lyanna. Ratings will vary, as will 'verses.





	1. Winter Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomeEnchantedEve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeEnchantedEve/gifts), [crossfirehurricane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossfirehurricane/gifts), [politicalmamaduck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/gifts).



She had overheard Rhaegar saying once that Lyanna loved winter roses—that Lyanna loved the soft petals and delicate blooms.

Elia loved winter roses too—her version of winter roses. Winter roses that she sucked into Lyanna’s skin while she lay in bed, pale flesh turning slowly purple as Elia crowned Lyanna her own queen of love and beauty.


	2. Laundry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for starkfish

"Come on you stupid thing."  Each word was punctuated by a kick and Elia smiled to herself because she knew exactly what the other girl had done wrong.  That machine had a nasty habit of eating the money intended to transfer onto their student IDs.

"You put a twenty in," Elia said and the girl whirls around.  Her cheeks were flushed, her grey eyes bright, and her dark hair was coming loose from her braid.  "It eats your twenties and leaves you with no juice left on your card."

The girl’s face crumpled.  ”Fuck.  I don’t have any more cash on me.”

"You a freshman?" Elia asked, depositing her laundry basket on top of washer number six.

"Yeah," the girl said glumly.  

Elia fished her wallet out of her pocket and handed the girl a five.  ”I’m Elia.”

"I can’t take that," the girl said.

"You live in Welch?" the Elia asked her, and she frowned.

"Yeah.  In 410."

"I’m in 319.  You can slide a five under my door when you have it." 

The girl took the five, and smiled.  ”Thanks,” she muttered and hurried down the row.  Then, over her shoulder, she said, “I’m Lyanna,” and began chucking her underwear into her washing machine, bending over just enough so that Elia could catch a glimpse of the top of her thong.

Elia grinned to herself as she began loading in her own laundry.  


	3. Love is Sweet, dearst Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for eliyannas, because of [some art she made](http://avatarwinry.tumblr.com/post/129472827017/fuck-rhaegar-someone-write-fic-underneath-this)

_Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature._

She wonders that she’d even said those words.  Wonders it now.  Perhaps it was protest, perhaps it was what she’d been telling herself.  No man could be perfect–and certainly not Robert who drank and spoke of loving her but philandered.  Not even Prince Rhaegar was perfect, though his song was lovely.

Elia was, though.  Elia, with her soft brown eyes and her wicked smile and the way that her gaze makes Lya feel like a little girl, her stomach all tied up in knots.

_Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature._

She’d never felt in love before.  Not truly.  She’d tried to imagine herself kissing Robert Baratheon when she had first learned of their betrothal, had done her best to imagine riding through the Rainwood with him as she rode through the Wolfswood with Brandon.  But not since she’d met him.  She couldn’t now that he was real and not some figment of her imagination.

But oddly enough…she didn’t know why she could with…maybe something was wrong with her.  No woman she knew wanted to kiss other women, and certainly no woman would be so foolish as to want to kiss the Prince’s wife.

_Love is sweet._

She helped put the Princess’ hair in braids, and helped her choose her jewelry, and the others of the Princess’ ladies let her do it, though she was newer to the Princess’ household and, by rights, should not yet have the honor.  Elia’s laughter is infectious and makes Lyanna’s heart lift, and when Lyanna helps her paint her lips a deeper red, they sit so closely that Lya can feel Elia’s breath on her skin, smelling of the blood oranges her brothers had sent her from Sunspear.

“Would you like a bite of one?” Elia asks her, and Lyanna accepts a slice, feeling its juices squirt into her mouth and dribble down her lips.  

Elia laughs gently and reaches for a handkerchief to wipe away the juices and Lya closes her eyes when her hands brush across her lips.

_But it cannot change a man’s nature._

It is Lya’s night abed with Elia, and they are telling one another secrets.  The windows are closed–Elia finds King’s Landing too cold; Lya finds it too warm, but she doesn’t care if it means she shares her bed with Elia.  

“I like my husband,” Elia says, “but I do not love him.”

Lyanna knows that such a secret could mean ill for the Princess, and vows that no one will know it from her lips.  Not ever.  

“I do not love Robert,” she says, hoping that Elia will hear the meaning behind those words, the promise that her secret is safe.

Elia smiles at her.  “I’d rather thought not.”  

Elia’s brown eyes flicker between Lyanna’s, then she leans over and her lips–they taste nothing like blood oranges.  They taste sweeter than anything Lyanna could have dreamed.


	4. It was a beautiful name--Elia

It was a beautiful name—Elia.  Beautiful, and it rolled off the tongue, like a song, like a prayer.  Elia.  

There should be songs written about her, poetry written about her that she might live on forever, when those who have known her face, known the shape of her hands, the sound of her laughter have all faded away.  No artist could capture her likeness, set her in stone, paint her or draw her or carve her.  No musician could capture the sound of her voice, no poet the breathlessness Lyanna felt when she looked at her.

But she could try.  She could try, even where words failed her.  She could write of Elia, write how her heart swelled, how her lips longed only for the taste of Elia’s, for the taste of Elia—surely that was the nectar of the gods.

It would only ever be “of” Elia though.  It would never be hers, for Elia would never be hers.  But so long as she dreamed, so long as she wrote, so long as she fantasized, it would always be of Elia.


	5. Rhaegar had thought it would be fun.

Rhaegar had thought it would be fun. Rhaegar had thought it would be hot. Rhaegar had thought it would be many things—but he wasn’t expecting that it would be this. Of that much, Elia was sure.

He was lying there, watching, clearly content and spent, his hand resting on his now-limp cock and Lyanna had turned her attention to Elia. Elia had watched them, had watched as Rhaegar had spread her legs and clutched at her hips while he stood just at the edge of the bed and fucked her so that her breasts bounced back and forth from the effort he exerted. Elia had gone and stood by him, kissing his neck, her fingers running along his chest while he he had moaned and thrust and moaned and come.

And now…Lyanna had turned her attention to Elia, drawing her back onto the bed, and kissing her full in the lips—her tongue tasting of Rhaegar and her hips grinding against Elia’s as her fingers found the moist flesh between her legs.

Somewhere, as if from miles away, Elia heard Rhaegar mutter, “hell yes,” but she ignored it. How could she pay attention to it when Lyanna’s fingers were slipping inside her, her thumb circling her clit. How could she even think of Rhaegar when the tips of Lyanna’s breasts brushed against her own and her heart was pounding harder than it ever had in her life because there was something about Lyanna that Rhaegar just…Rhaegar couldn’t…Rhaegar didn’t…

She’d never once come with Rhaegar inside her. She’d always had to make him lick her or rub her to a climax after he’d spent himself. But Elia fell apart as Lyanna brushed her clit with her thumb, her cunt clenching around Lyanna’s fingers and blood roaring through her body, heat—perfect heat—filling her and making her wonder for the first time in her life if she needed Rhaegar at all.


	6. 3A

Lyanna hears a yell as she’s passing the third floor and pauses, her keys in her hand.  It could be just a yell.  She knows that the guy in 4A yells when he’s lifting weights, and she’s heard more sex coming out of 4C than she really really wants to.  But 3A—3A’s usually quiet as a mouse.

She waits for a moment, then sticks her keys between her fingers like claws and knocks on the door.  ”You all right in there?” she calls.  She hears the sound of footsteps and a moment later, the locks are unclicking and a young woman appears.  She’s carrying a jar of sauce.

"Sorry—I just…I couldn’t open it."  She waves the jar, and blushes.  "Thanks for checking."  Her eyes drop to the keys between Lyanna’s fingers, which she releases and they fall to the floor.  

"Dang," Lyanna mutters to herself and she bends down at the same time as 3A’s and they almost knock heads.  

"Sorry!" 3A says.  

"Don’t worry about it," Lyanna says, smiling and bobbing her head.  Then, she catches sight of the jar again.  "D’you…want me to try for you?"

"What?  Oh!  Sure.  Why not."  3A hands Lyanna the jar, and the lid comes off easily when Lyanna twists.

"Here you go," she grins, handing the sauce over.

"Go figure it’d come off easy for you," says 3A.

"You loosened it up for me," Lyanna responds, winking. 


	7. Elia could blame the weather

Elia could blame the weather, or perhaps that piece of advice her aunt Joanna had always ingrained in her which was that it was never bad to make an enemy needlessly, or—perhaps—the more useful advice given her by her mother that you never want to piss off a techie.  

But Elia was the one that volunteered to help Lyanna load in furniture after heavy snow had caused a delay getting her truck into town and, on top of that, the other techie was snowed into his house.  

"It would have been nice if Rhaegar owned a shovel," Lyanna muttered to herself for the sixth time that evening as Elia helped her hoist chairs and tables and other things into the theater.  "It would have been nice if he didn’t have his head up his ass."

But whoever this Rhaegar was did have his head up his ass, it seemed, and Elia could only murmur words of consolation as she and Lyanna found spots backstage for tables that were too large and too heavy for two people to lift.


	8. you’ll need to sign here, and here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for lyannas

“you’ll need to sign here, and here,” pycelle says, pointing with knobby fingers at the lines.  elia clicks the pen and her signature curves across the white paper. her heart is in her throat as she writes.   _this is it, i’m done with him,_ she thinks as she signs.  

next to her, she can hear lyanna breathing.  lyanna’s not holding her hand.  pycelle’s old and such a sight might give him a heart attack or something.  but she feels lyanna’s foot resting next to hers and that’s enough.  

“initial here,” pycelle says, and she does so.  “and here.  and here.”  every time she puts the pen on paper, lyanna’s toe rubs against the side of her foot.  “and sign here,” pycelle says.

“how many places does she need to sign?” lyanna asks.

“that’s the last one,” pycelle says, and lyanna nods.  he gives her a look.  

later, when they’ve closed the door behind him, lyanna bursts out laughing.  “you could practically hear him thinking ‘ _lesbians’_  in his old man voice.”  she wraps her arms around elia, and elia rests her forehead against lyanna’s.  “you ok?”

elia breathes in the scent of her.  lya’s gotten a new shampoo and it smells like roses.  elia likes it.  “better than i thought,” she says quietly.  “i’m glad you’re here.”  lyanna kisses her slowly, deeply, her tongue tracing elia’s lips.

the house is quiet but for the two of them.  oberyn has rhaenys and aegon today, and they won’t be back until the evening.  so elia doesn’t worry as lyanna pushes her cardigan off her shoulders.  she doesn’t worry about  _anything_.  she’s free–she  _never_  has to consider rhaegar again, and her heart skips a beat as lyanna’s lips come to her neck and she sucks.  off come shirts, off come slacks, off come bras and panties and they sink to the floor together, lips locked, her hands between lyanna’s legs while lyanna grips her ass as tightly as she can, a finger circling her asshole as she pushes lyanna onto her back.  

she loves the gasps that lyanna makes as she sucks on her tits, loves the way she does her best to spread her legs wider, even though they’re as wide as they’ll go if it means that her clit’s a little closer to elia’s fingers.  she loves the way her girlfriend whimpers, loves the way it’s just the two of them and no ghost of ex-husband filling the air around them.  and when lyanna comes, she loves that it’s because of her, because lya loves her and because lya’s called her pianist hands magical, and has said she’s never come so hard as when elia’s playing her clit like a song.

and most of all she loves that when she’s done, lya kisses her, then grins as she kisses her way down elia’s stomach until her lips are locked against elia’s cunt and she licks, and licks, and licks.


	9. rhaegar, i’m running off with the babysitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for lyannas

_rhaegar, i’m running off with the babysitter._

_rhaegar, i want a divorce._

_rhaegar, remember how you joked when we hired her that you weren’t going to become some stupid trope of some stupid man who falls for the babysitter half his age because he’s a loser who doesn’t know what he has in his wife? funny story…_

elia stares in the mirror.  it looks like there’s no blood in her face at all.  she looks sick.  she’s used to looking sick.  she’s sickly.  but this is different.

_rhaegar, i’m a lesbian._

_rhaegar, this isn’t working._

_rhaegar, we’re better off as friends._

“everything ok?”  lyanna pokes her head into the bathroom, and elia looks down at the sink.  there’s no one else in the bathroom.  both of the stalls are empty.  it’s just the two of them.

“I don’t know what to say.”  elia’s voice cracks. 

“just tell the truth,” lyanna says.

“it’s harder than that.”

“the truth’s always the hardest.  especially when you don’t want to hurt someone.  he’s going to be hurt anyway.”

_elia, i swear to love and protect you until the day i die._

_elia, you made me write my own vows because some traditions are better left behind, so i’ll try my best._

_elia, you are the love of my life, and i can’t really believe you’re my wife now._

_rhaegar, i don’t love you anymore._

“hold me,” she whispers, her voice strangled, but when lyanna wraps her arms around her and squeezes her so tightly that it almost hurts, it doesn’t feel better.


	10. every day down in the cafe

lya sees her every day down in the cafe, laughing and talking with her friends.  she’s beautiful, is all lya can really think.  beautiful and vivid because of that smile and the way that her eyes dance while she explains whatever it is that she’s explaining.

sometimes, lya thinks that she–elia, her name is elia–looks her way.  but that might just because lya’s a bumbling tourist who slaughters the words coming out of her mouth and would order in english except elia can’t speak english.  there’s only ever kindness in her eyes, never mockery.  she does mock.  lya sees her mocking some of the men who come in, the one with long silver hair and his friends who sit in a corner and periodically burst into song.  but never lya.  

one day, while lya is working on her homework, elia comes and slides into the seat across the table from her.  “you need a tutor?” elia asks her.  “a language tutor.”  her lips are so red and her eyes are shining and lya gulps and nods.

“i’m lya,” she says, and elia laughs.  

“that sounds like my name,” elia says, “elia.”

lya smiles.  they do sound alike.  she wonders if…but no.  no they’re probably not more alike than that.  she can’t imagine that elia thinks about her that way.

except that when she says yes, elia’s eyes light up and her lips apart and maybe, just maybe….


	11. it will be all right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for politicalmamaduck

“it will be all right,” elia promised her.  “they’ll understand.  they’ll accept it.  they love you.”

she’s not wrong, lyanna knows.  her brothers do love her, and they’ll understand sexuality.  god knows that she’s quite certain that brandon has had sex with men before.  but she’s not sure…

“it’s that you were married, eli,” lyanna whispers.  “it’s not the gay stuff.”

elia snorts.  “gay stuff.  i forget how young you are.”  

lyanna flares.

“i’m not that much younger than you are,” she snaps.

“i know,” elia says and her hand is on lyanna’s thigh.  “i know.”

they sit and wait.  they’d gotten to the restaurant early, and are sitting facing the door.   _it’s just ned and brandon and ben,_ lyanna thinks, trying to force that nervous lump out of her throat.   _it’s just my brothers._

she can’t look at elia, but she doesn’t need to.  elia’s hand is still on her thigh and it’s creeping higher and higher and lyanna takes a deep breath, her heart still pounding, and her skin feels very, very warm.


	12. he tricked me too.

“he tricked me too.”

they are standing in the hallway, and lyanna’s dressed demurely.   _demurely_ , she rages silently,  _because the system is so fucked that they’ll think i was asking for it._ she learned to bite back those tears a long time ago.  her lawyer says that if she screams at the judge it probably won’t help.   _the jury won’t want to be on your side,_ he says.   _he’s charming, and handsome, and you’re…_ so her collar goes up to her neck, and her skirt goes past her knees and she hates that she has to wear a skirt at all. 

elia martell is standing there.  it’s the first time lyanna has been close to her at all, the first time she can see the dark circles under the woman’s eyes, the first time that she can see how her cheekbones are a little too pronounced to be truly healthy.  she’s wearing a headscarf, and lyanna remembers words about chemotherapy.

“what?”

“he tricked me too,” elia says.  "he told me he loved me too.“

lyanna’s always been fierce.  she’s always been willful, she’s always been headstrong.  but she doesn’t know what to say to that.  rhaegar had told her his wife would hate her, that they had to keep everything a secret, because if elia found out, elia would do something drastic.  this woman standing before her doesn’t seem the type to do something drastic–at least, not to lyanna.

“he has a way with words.  it makes you forget who you are,” elia says sadly, and she takes a step towards lyanna.  "and then just like that you wake up and you’re…“  she looks towards the courtroom, and lyanna knows exactly what she’s thinking.   _you’re with him, and he’s not with you.  he’s only with himself, only cares for himself, doesn’t give a damn about you, or your body, just himself, just himself._ “you’re married to a rapist,” elia says and her voice is hard.  she looks back at lyanna, nods once then turns and goes into the courtroom to sit in the row behind rhaegar.


	13. Lyanna can't look away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for politicalmamaduck

She’s wearing a bright pink headscarf and is pushing a stroller with a toddler sitting in it, a smaller baby strapped to her chest and Lyanna can’t look away.  It’s loud–people are shouting and there are brass bands who showed up just to make music and noise but it’s like the whole city is quiet as Lyanna sees one woman with her two children marching in a crowd of hundreds of thousands of people. 

It’s a warm day, and sunny, and the Loop is usually full of cars, but not today.  Lyanna has her own son strapped to her chest and Jon is unusually calm as he watches the people pass.  More than once he reaches a tiny hand up to grab at the dangling strings from the pink hat Lyanna had ordered from Etsy that have giant pompoms on the end of them.  She doesn’t stop him from doing it, or from chomping down on one of them with toothless gums.  

Jon’s behaving well, but the muslim woman’s baby is clearly agitated, and moments after Lyanna had caught sight of the little family, the baby has burst into tears and the woman looks around, clearly trying to find a way to get her stroller out of the crowd so she can tend to her baby.

“Hold up,” Lyanna says loudly, stepping forward, and some of the marchers look around confused until the woman pushes the stroller through the opening and marches towards the sidewalk.  Lyanna follows her.

“Need help?” she asks, resting a hand on Jon’s back while he chews on the pink pompom.  

“Could you just…” the woman says as she gestures to the stroller, and Lyanna grabs hold of the handles so it doesn’t begin rolling away.  Then the woman sighs.  “Oh Aegon.  You need a changing, don’t you?”  She looks around, chewing her lip.  “Any good places near here?  I took the Metra in and don’t come downtown very frequently…”

“There’s a McDonalds a black away.  I can show you,” Lyanna says.  “I’ve got diapers if you need one.  I’m Lyanna, by the way.”

The woman smiles.  “Elia,” she says, extending a hand and Lyanna shakes it.

“Aegon?” Lyanna asks, and Elia nods.  

“Aegon and Rhaenys.”

“This is Jon.”  

Jon makes a burbling sound at the mention of his name and Elia’s eyes crinkle warmly when she looks at him.


	14. Lya!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for starkfish

“Lya!” 

Lyanna’s face splits into a grin.  She loves the reprimand, loves the shock of Elia’s voice– _what are you doing_ –loves the nervousness– _but what if you’re caught_ –loves the daring– _but god that’s hot_.

They are in the park on a rare day when their respective brothers are looking after the children.  “ _It’s an early birthday present,”_ Oberyn had told Elia when he’d come to pick up his niece and nephew and Jon.  The sun is shining, they’re at the top of a hill and when they look out they can see the whole city sprawling in front of them.  At the base of the hill there’s a group of college-aged boys playing ultimate frisbee, and families with dogs, and joggers.

But it’s just the two of them at the top of the hill, and no one was looking, so of  _course_  Lyanna was going to strip off her top, unhook her bra and “tan.”  

“Pass the sunblock,” she says evenly.  “I  _really_  don’t fancy getting sunburned on my tits.”

Elia doesn’t pass her the sunblock, though.  Elia keeps staring at her from beneath her sunglasses, clearly weighing the situation.  Lyanna’s grin eases into a smirk.  The sheer fact that Elia hasn’t chucked her t-shirt back at her is a good sign.

“Well, it would teach you a lesson.  Public indecency and all,” Elia mutters.  But she reaches for her purse and pulls out her sun tan lotion.  Instead of passing the bottle to Lyanna, however, she opens it and squirts it into her hands.

“My breasts aren’t my back.  I can reach them myself,” Lyanna teases as Elia begins to rub the lotion on her chest.  She lets out a sigh.  This was going better than she’d expected on several different levels.  The feeling of Elia’s hands on her nipples, coupled with the warmth of the sun above them is heavenly, and Lyanna shifts her hips slightly, relishing in the feeling that she’s a bit wet.

Elia doesn’t respond to Lyanna’s teasing though, except to straddle her, and Lyanna sighs again as her wife bends and draws Lyanna’s lower lip into her mouth.


	15. halloween

“aren’t you northerners supposed to be always prepared for the cold?” elia teased and lyanna glared at her, crossing her arms over her chest.  she was shivering.  “warm blooded and all that?  didn’t your brother do a naked mile in the middle of january?”

“are you going to give me the scarf or not?” lyanna asks.  her teeth are chattering.

elia laughs quietly as she unwraps it  from around her neck and pops the collar of her jacket up a little higher before tossing it to lyanna, who does her best to cover her neckline and arms with it.  

“not sure how much good this will do,” she mutters.  “the skirt’s still so damn short.”

elia wraps an arm around her.  “well if you’re cold,” she breathes into lyanna’s ear, and lyanna turns her head towards her and grins.


End file.
